


There Will Be Light

by moviemind1219



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Next to Normal - Kitt/Yorkey
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Next to Normal AU, attempted suicide, character suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moviemind1219/pseuds/moviemind1219
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next to Normal AU<br/>I take my own spin on the rock Pulitzer Prize Winning musical with Grantaire as Diana. </p><p>For those who don't know the musical: Grantaire hears something at the Musain about Enjolras that he can't bear to hear. He soon remembers and he cannot cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love I Know You Know

Grantaire was doing what he always does when the blonde walked up: sketching. He was sitting at a table outside one of his favorite indie coffee shops drawing people in the park across the street. A man walking his black poodle in charcoal, two girls in pink dresses playing on the swing set with pencil, and a woman having a solo picnic reading what appeared to be a dictionary from where Grantaire was sitting. It was either a dictionary or the artist needed a new prescription on his contact lenses. He paused to take a sip of his coffee, no cream lots of sugar, when he noticed that his favorite person had taken the seat opposite his.

“Hey you,” said R smiling.

“Hey you,” replied his blonde companion returning the anti-frown.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you have an interview or something? I was gonna see you at the meeting tonight anyway.”

“Well it ended early, and I know this is your favorite place. So I thought I’d come by and say hello. Hello,” he said giving a small wave.

Grantaire couldn’t help but grin at his boyfriend and took another sip of his coffee. He placed the cup down and reached his hand across the table meeting another hand half way. Their fingers interlaced with practiced ease, they had been dating for what six years now? He smiled down at the connection.

“I love you Apollo.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I do have a real name you know,” said the blonde chuckling.

“Yeah but-”

“Grantaire is that you?” someone shouted aways across the square. A man began to approach. The blonde retracted his hand and looked at Grantaire, a look in his eyes that Grantaire couldn’t quite place.

“I’ll let you catch up with whoever that is, I’ll see you in a little bit okay?” He walked to the other side of the table and kissed the top of his partner’s head, “And I love you too R.”

The man in question was none other than Grantaire’s first college art professor, Mr. Fauchevelent. He sat and they chatted idly about what had happened in the past few years. Grantaire continued to paint, his teacher continued to teach; nothing had seemed to change.

“I went to one of your most recent showings at that gallery downtown, and I have to say Grantaire you just keep getting better and better. I’m so very proud of you. You’ve come so far.”

R looked down at his hands. A painter’s hands. There were charcoal smudges along his fingertips from his earlier drawings of the parkgoers, but underneath his nails was weeks worth of leftover paint.  He scrubbed his hands thoroughly after every session in the studio but Grantaire could never get all of it off. There was always some residue left behind. His boyfriend would joke that the paint had seeped into his blood mutating his DNA. At that memory, Grantaire smiled.

“Thanks Mr. F, that really means a lot coming from you.”

His teacher looked down at his watch and began to stand up.

“It’s been wonderful catching up with you son, please stop by office anytime if you want to show me some of your pieces or if you just want to talk,” he handed his pupil his business card.

Grantaire stood up and shook his hand. Mr. Fauchevelent left with a wave and Grantaire searched for more subjects to sketch. In the course of an hour Grantaire had drawn a lovely elderly couple taking a stroll, the ducks in the pond, and a group of people who seemed to be enjoying some afternoon yoga. By the time he checked his phone to see what time it was, it was already three o’clock. There were two missed calls from Courfeyrac and a text from Combeferre.

“Shit. Late again,” he muttered under his breath. He packed up his art supplies quickly, stuffing pencils and pastels into his messenger bag. He tucked his beanie back onto his head and started a light jog towards his destination.

As he had predicted, the Les Amis d’le ABC had started the meeting without him. He claimed his normal spot at one of the  back tables on the upper level of the Cafe Musain, sliding in next to his friend Bahorel. He met eyes with Musichetta behind the bar and she mouthed, “The usual?” Grantaire nodded and tuned in to what Combeferre was saying.

“This is the biggest rally we’ve had in a very long time,” Ferre announced, “so we need everyone to strap in and give it their all because we need all the help we can get.”

Just then, Grantaire’s favorite blonde appeared behind Combeferre, looking at the posters on the table in front of them. He winked at R, causing him to smile like a fool across the space. Bahorel noticed the change in demeanor of the man sitting beside him.

“What are you smiling at now?” he asked, starting to grin as well.

Musichetta brought over his beer and kissed his forehead as she traditionally does. She skipped over and put her hands in front of Joly’s face who began to screech something about Purell-ing his eyes. She took her hands away giggling and sat in Bossuet’s lap giving both her men a quick kiss on the mouth before returning to her post behind the bar. No one knows how they manage to make a three person relationship, but they do, and quite wonderfully too.

“Oh nothing,” muttered Grantaire, still smirking at the man in the red jacket across the room. The meeting continued, they discussed permits and stands, picket signs and rally posters all for the protest next weekend. A half an hour passed and so had three more beers for Grantaire.

It was no secret that Grantaire was a drunk. His grandfather drank and his father drank, he was often caught saying it was a family curse. At first, his friends tried to get him help, none more so than his golden-haired god Apollo, but even by his own admissions he was a lost cause. So they let him have his beer and his wine, and it was only on occasion now that one of them had to help him home and tuck him into bed.

Courfeyrac was rubbing circles in Combeferre’s back trying to turn down his stress level. They had been together even longer than Grantaire and his boyfriend, they were a perfect balance for one another. Courfeyrac fun loving and enthusiastic, Combeferre grounded and wise. Grantaire leaned towards Bahorel, who was only on his second beer.

“I’ve never seen Ferre look so stressed before,” he whispered.

“He’s just nervous,” said Bahorel shrugging, “it’s his first time with a big rally.”

Grantaire was confused and his eyebrows pulled together. It wasn’t his first big rally though he thought. Ferre had been to hundreds of rallies since the inception of the Les Amis over a decade ago, back when the protests were about getting financial aid for the lunch ladies at their high school. Every member of the Les Amis would be there, and Apollo would be giving the headlining speech as always. Everyone planned this one together, like every other one, how was it Combeferre’s first big solo? Clearly, Bahorel didn’t see Grantaire’s confusion, too engrossed in one of Feuilly’s tales. He turned his focus back to Combeferre shaking the odd feeling away. Maybe he needed to stop drinking.

“Okay who, wants to be in charge of the information booth, so people can learn more about Les Amis?” Combeferre asked the room.

“I’ll do it,” said Grantaire’s golden hero, raising his hand, “I do have a talent for getting people to join the cause.”

“But does anyone really care Apollo?” said Grantaire exasperatedly throwing his hands in the air.

The entire second floor of the Musain fell silent. A pin dropping would sound like an atomic bomb. Everyone looked back at Grantaire, their faces a myriad of expressions; some were sad, some were in disbelief, and some couldn’t meet R’s eyes at all and simply looked at the ground. He heard a sob escape Cosette’s throat and Marius turned away to comfort her.

“What’d I say?” asked Grantaire, unnerved by the looks he was receiving from his friends.

Courfeyrac looked at Combeferre with a pained expression, and his companion sighed and  nodded. He walked to the back, to Grantaire’s table and sat down in the empty seat next to his. The room was so still, the squeaks from the wooden chair emanated eerily throughout. The spectacled man removed his glasses and rubbed his hands over his eyes. In a matter of seconds Combeferre had aged 15 years. He laid his hand over Grantaire’s, the one lightly gripping his beer bottle, and took a deep breath.

“Grantaire,” he said pausing, “he’s not here.”

“What do you mean? He sitting right there,” said Grantaire pointing at where Apollo was sitting, across the room.

Another sob came from Cosette. Grantaire looked at her with concern, _what did I say?_ Combeferre forced Grantaire to look at him again. His eyes ablaze with concern.

“R,” Combeferre made an unintelligible noise and then much quieter said, “he’s dead.”

“What? That’s-that’s not possible,” he gasped, retracting his hand from underneath his friend’s.

“Grantaire, he’s been gone for three years.”

R stood up abruptly shaking the table and knocked over the empty bottles Musichetta had yet to collect. _No I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you._ He looked around the room frantically, searching for the man who he had shared a coffee with not a couple of hours ago. What his eyes found were his friends with blotchy faces, tears running down their cheeks, looks of pity were thrown in the artist’s direction.

_He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. He can’t be-_

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wisp of blonde hair and the trim of a red jacket fly down the stairs. Grantaire did not hesitate; he picked up his jacket and ran after the man he loves.

When Grantaire exited the Musain, his friends upstairs could not speak. The pain preventing them from forming words. Some still had wet eyes, the horrific memory still too fresh. They had been fine for so long, but now their stitches that were barely held together were ripped open at the sound of Grantaire’s words.

“Combeferre, what are we going to do?” asked Courfeyrac once again at the man’s side.

Combeferre missed his best friend more than anything. Everyday was a struggle not to sit and grieve, to let the sorrow consume him. He was strong though, and that’s what everyone needed him to be. Combeferre was their rock, he pushed them towards the future. But Grantaire remained in the past, tormented by what happened. And he was truly the only who could relate to the unbearable pain Grantaire felt at that moment he reminded the man that their beloved friend was gone, but he could not let the others see. He had to be strong for them.

“I- I really don’t know,” he said turning his head away so no one could see the tears fall from his eyes.

 


	2. You Don't Know What It's Like To Die Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire runs after Enjolras to find out the truth.

Grantaire raced into the cool autumn evening pulling on his jacket and wrapping a knit scarf around his neck. He let himself believe it was the wind that made his eyes water. Running home he kept a single thought in his head.

_He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead._

_Please God don’t let my Apollo be dead._

He shoved his keys in the lock, turned the knob, and burst through the door. Grantaire threw his keys in the bowl beside the door and hung his jacket on the coat rack. He looked up from the hook to see a framed photo on the wall. It was from his birthday party four years ago. There was cake all over his face. As soon as he had blown out the candles, his boyfriend had put his hand on the back of his black curls and thrust his head forward into the cake. The photo was of Apollo laughing at his messy face, while Grantaire couldn’t help but grin back at him. Jehan had taken that photo and given it to him a few weeks after the party and since then it’s been hung up in his apartment. Grantaire walked closer to the photo and tapped his love’s face with his finger.

_You can’t be dead. I saw you this afternoon. This isn’t real._

“Hey,” said a melodic voice.

Grantaire whipped around to see his boyfriend, very clearly alive, sitting on his couch. He was still wearing his crimson jacket, his jeans ripped at the knees. Grantaire went up to him and sat beside him on the couch. He inspected every inch of his perfect boyfriend. He was not transparent, he gave off body heat, he remembered as much from this morning, how was this possible. He reached out to touch Apollo’s face and he made contact. Then his head exploded into pain.

_Flashing red and blue lights._

_Blood. So much blood._

_Apollo lying on the concrete._

_Someone holding him back while he screamed his name._

_He wasn’t moving._

_Why wasn’t he moving._

_APOLLO!_

Grantaire came back to reality to find Apollo still sitting next to him. Something happened to his love, he just can’t remember what. Apollo ran his hand through Grantaire’s dark curls.

“I really want to believe that you’re alive.”

“I am alive. In here,” he said putting his hand on Grantaire’s chest, “and in here,” he said pointing at Grantaire’s head.

“What happened to you?”

“Go to your closet.”

“Why?”

“To find what you’ve lost. But be sure you’re ready to live with the cost.”

Grantaire got up to go to his bedroom. He started walking down the hallway.

“Grantaire?”

Silence.

“Remember how happy you were this morning before you open it.”

He went into his bedroom and pulled back the closet door. Nothing was different, his clothes still hung on hangers, sweaters and sweatshirts on a shelf, his shoes still in lines on the floor and...a box in the corner. A shoebox labeled “Apollo.”

Remember how happy you were this morning before you open it.

And Grantaire was unbelievably, perfectly, and blissfully jubilant just hours ago, wrapped up in his blankets with the man who he had believed was very much a living human being. R closed his eyes. He could still smell the shampoo from those heavenly blonde locks. He could still see the light peeking through the curtains. He could still feel fingertips, feather light, dragging across his chest. He could still hear Combeferre’s voice in his head at the meeting: _Grantaire, he’s not here._

_What’s real anymore?_

Grantaire opened his eyes and flipped the lid off of the box. Inside was a single item. A crimson scarf. It was weathered and tattered, but not from age, from sheer love. This was his Apollo’s favorite red scarf. He wore it everywhere and it was his trademark, along with his signature jacket. Grantaire took it out of the box and went to sit on his bed. He began to open the scarf, seeing all the holes from overwearing, a few of the tassels missing on the bottom, and that stain. Wait. What stain? Grantaire knew every inch of that scarf from years of admiring it from afar and up close, there was never a large dark stain on it. He touched his finger to the spot and again his head exploded in pain and light. Images flickered in and out of his memory.

Grantaire held his head mumbling, “No no no no no no no NONONONO,” by the end he was screaming.

_I remember everything._

When R’s head finally pieced itself back together, and he had the strength to open his eyes he saw that he had thrown the scarf across the room. It lay there, limp against the ground, _just like him_. Grantaire jumped up, shoved the scarf in his back pocket, shrugged on his jacket and ran out the door.

Grantaire’s feet and heart knew where he was going, but his head still couldn’t believe it was true.

_I was happier this morning, I shouldn’t have opened that fucking box._


	3. Catch Me I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire remembers everything and he needs to talk to someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *trigger warning*

*buzz buzz*

Combeferre’s phone lit up on the table. He untangled himself from Courfeyrac’s arms, the man beside him grumbling in discontent. Dragging the phone closer to the edge, he saw that he had just received a voicemail from Grantaire. Courfeyrac sat up.

“What is it?”

“It’s a voicemail from R….speaker?”

“Speaker.”

Ferre pressed the button on his phone and the message played.

“Hey Ferre it’s R, I uh- I was wondering if you could meet me somewhere? I’m at-”

There’s a sound of a deep breath, and then he continued.

“I’m where he died,” Combeferre and Courfeyrac looked at each other with concern, “Ferre I remember it all and I just-I don’t know how to cope with all of this right now,” Grantaire sobbed into the phone, “Just please come.”

The message ended and Combeferre was already standing to get his coat. Courf followed him to the door, and helped him wrap his scarf around his neck. He straightened his boyfriend’s glasses and pulled him into a kiss.

“Why is this happening again?”

Combeferre intertwined his hands with Courfeyrac’s, “I don’t know. But Courf I have to help him somehow.”

“You don’t have to be-”

“I know I’m not ‘Apollo’ but I have to be there for Grantaire...it’s what he would’ve wanted,” Combeferre looked down at their hands. Courfeyrac took one of his hands and used it to cup the doctor’s chin and lifted it so their eyes met.

“He would’ve wanted Grantaire to move on.”

They kissed once more and then Combeferre ran out of their apartment. He reached the street and in his head figured out how far he was from Grantaire. _I can run ten blocks, I did track in college with-_ He stopped his train of thought and took off sprinting.

 

***

Grantaire was sitting on a bench adjacent to the Seine. He was holding the crimson scarf in his hands, methodically outlining the dark stain with the tip of his index finger. Every so often he picked it up and brought the soft fabric close to his face. _It still smells like him._ R smiled at that. Even after all this time, his Apollo’s scent remained.

“I know you can hear me,” said a warm tenor voice.

Grantaire frowned and ignored it.

“Come on, I’m sitting right next to you. Please darling look at me.”

Grantaire stared straight ahead at the river in front of him and continued to rub circles in the scarf. He was a stubborn drunk, he could give someone the cold shoulder forever.

“R, I love you.”

His hand faltered in the material on his lap, but gave no reply.

“I love you Grantaire, and I always will. Always.” A pale slender hand, reached out towards the artist.

“Don’t,” he said in a strangled voice. The hand moved away but he felt a warmth next to his shoulder.

“Look at me,” Apollo whispered in his ear.

Grantaire couldn’t refuse him anymore and turned his head. There, on the bench beside him, was his boyfriend. _You look so real._ Grantaire reached out to cup his love’s face but stopped before he could make contact, his hand dropped.

“You’re not really here.”

“You see me don’t you?” the blonde tilted his head to side innocently.

“I know you’re not, don’t bullshit me Apollo. You died in that alley back there,” Grantaire pointed to a dark alleyway between a dive bar and an apartment complex, “I saw you lying there in your own pool of blood. I screamed your name until my throat went raw. So don’t you dare tell me you’re still alive.”

Grantaire turned back to face Apollo and all that was there was empty space. He whipped his head around searching for a golden head anywhere and couldn’t see any sign that he was ever there at all. He picked up the scarf and let himself scream into it, the heart wrenching sound muffled by the material. It was then that Combeferre spotted him.

Out of breath, Combeferre jogged over to the bench where Grantaire sat. The man was in hysterics. He sat down, took off his gloves, and tentatively put an arm around him. His friend stiffened beside him and looked up, his mouth forming a name,

“Apo- oh, it’s you Combeferre,” Grantaire wiped his eyes and nose on his jacket sleeve.

“Yeah it’s me, I got your message. R, are you okay?”

“You’re the genius, do I look okay?”

“No, to be honest you look like crap,” said Combeferre smirking.

At that Grantaire laughed. A small smile forming on his face. He looked down at the scarf and Combeferre followed his eyeline.

“You’ve kept it after all this time?”

“Ferre, I couldn’t throw it away, I just- I needed a little piece of him, you know?”

Combeferre nodded and reached out to touch it, Grantaire recoiled, pulling the scarf closer to his chest.

“Sorry, I just-”

“No no, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that without asking,” apologized Combeferre.

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rush of the Seine in front of them. It was Combeferre who broke the silence.

“So you remember what happened.”

“Yeah. Yeah I remember it all,” replied Grantaire folding the scarf back up and putting it into his jacket pocket.

“And do you um want to talk about it?”

“I’m not a very talkative person.”

“You were with-”

Grantaire’s breath hitched and his face contorted like he was in pain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“I know. It’s okay, I just-I’m not ready to talk about him just yet.”

“Then why did you call me-”

“Everything hit me in one massive wave. I found the scarf and it just all came back. I was in memory shock, overload.”

“Do you think you’re okay now?” Combeferre asked, concerned what the answer will be.

“Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay,” Combeferre’s eyes widened, “but, I think I’ll be fine now, or at least fine enough to get myself home.”

“I’ll walk you back,” suggested Courfeyrac beginning to get up.

“No, you live in the opposite direction. Besides I want to sit with my thoughts a little bit longer. The sounds of the Seine are soothing me. You go,” he said flicking his hand, shooing his friend away.

“R are you-”

“I’m fine Ferre, Courf probably wants you back home,” Grantaire puts air quotes up, “to snuggle.” He smiles up at his friend.

Combeferre arches his brow, “You’ll call me if you need anything right?”

“I will. Now go, and give the goofball a kiss for me,” he waved goodbye to his friend and when the bespectacled man finally turned his head, let his smile drop.

_I’m not okay Ferre, but I don’t want you to see me anymore right now._

He stood and walked over to the stone wall in front of the famous river. He looked down at the water, thinking about how cold it must be this late in the year.

“The Seine is beautiful at night,” said a man beside him.

“Yeah it really is.”

“My boyfriend loves to sketch around here, says there’s always interesting subjects to draw down by the river.”

Grantaire chuckled, “Well, your boyfriend’s a smart guy, I’m an artist and this is one of my favorite spots too.” He twists around to face the stranger next to him, he couldn’t make out the man’s face with that big hat and coat on.

He extends his hand, “I’m Gran-” he doesn’t finish because whom he’s talking to already knows his name.

“Hey you.”

“I thought I told you to go away.”

“I thought I saw you crying into my scarf once I left, and besides you say I’m dead remember?” scoffed Apollo.

Grantaire had no retort, he had cried into Apollo’s scarf. It was painful to realize that he was actually dead, but it was excruciating to see him and then lose him all over again.

“I cried because I thought you were gone for good this time,” he said softly.

The blonde stepped close enough that Grantaire could feel his breath on him.

“I will never leave you Grantaire...ever,” Apollo whispered fiercely. Grantaire didn’t think, only acted and thrust their mouths together. _It was warm, it was soft, it was real._ It had to be real. When they broke apart Grantaire grinned.

“You’re really here?”

His boyfriend grinned back. “I’m somewhere love.”

“Where? I want to be with you again, please. Tell me where I have to go,” Grantaire pulled their bodies close together. Apollo’s scent was intoxicating.

“There’s a world out there. A world we can share,” he grabbed Grantaire hands, “where the pain will go away. A place where we can be free.”

“I like the sound of that,” Grantaire said huskily.

“Come with me.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll show you,” and the blonde stepped up onto the stone wall. He extended his hand back to Grantaire. R took it and climbed up onto the ledge next to him. He looked at the man would love until the end of time, and looked down at the river.

 

***

Combeferre was halfway home when he realized he had forgotten his gloves on the bench.

“Aw fuck me,” he groaned. Then giggled remembering Courfeyrac’s automatic response to the phrase, “Yes please!”

He jogged back to the riverbank and saw Grantaire from across the plaza standing next to the stone wall.

_I hope he’s really okay._

What Combeferre saw next shook him to his core. Grantaire got up on the wall. Combeferre took off across the plaza, running towards his friend.

 

***

“I’m scared,” Grantaire whispered.

“I’ll catch you, I promise.”

“We’re falling.”

What Grantaire didn’t hear was Combeferre screaming his name, yelling for him to stop, to wait. He let himself crash into the river. The water cold as ice and dark as night. He didn’t fight it and allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper. He hears a voice in his head repeating the same phrase over and over again.

_I’ll catch you, I promise. I’ll catch you, I promise. I’ll catch you, I promise._

Combeferre collided with the ledge just in time to see a cascade of bubbles on the surface of the Seine. _Grantaire oh my god._ Ferre rapidly stripped off his jacket, glasses, scarf, and shoes; he jumped up onto the wall and dived into the water to save his friend.

It was impossible for Combeferre to see anything in the pitch black. He came up and gulped down a lungful of air. He went back down and more or less found himself swimming into Grantaire’s, who isn’t doing anything. He’s not kicking or flailing, just completely still.

_Oh my god, Grantaire I cannot go through this again, please Grantaire just be alive. For me just be not dead okay?_

He locked an arm around the artist’s waist and kicked to the surface. He pulled Grantaire toward the riverbank. Heaving the man up onto the shore, he leaned his head down close to R’s nose and mouth. Ferre’s heart speeds up and his eyes widen.

_He’s not breathing._

The doctor in Combeferre kicks in and he immediately began CPR.

 

_Pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump_

_Breath breath_

_Pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump_

_Breath breath_

 

No response.

 

Combeferre felt wetness on his cheeks and he didn’t know if it was leftover river water running down his face, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t. Please Grantaire.

“Breathe you bastard!”

 

_Pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump_

_Breath breath_

Combeferre paused.

Suddenly, Grantaire began to cough and splutter, water exiting his mouth. He sat up, expelling what had entered his lungs. Ferre patted his back and waited for the spasms to stop. When they ceased, Grantaire wiped his mouth and looked up, pointing at his friend questioningly.

“Did you call me a bastard?”

Combeferre grabbed Grantaire into a hug and threatened to never let him go. He squeezed his friend, letting the definitely not river water fall from his eyes. When he finally pulled back, he put his hands on either side of Grantaire’s face.

“Grantaire you just tried to-”

“He didn’t catch me,” R interrupted.

“What?”

“He said he’d catch me Ferre, and he didn’t.”

Combeferre’s mouth dropped open and he quickly pulled Grantaire into another hug. All of a sudden very sleepy, Grantaire rested his head against Ferre’s shoulder.

“He promised he’d catch me. He said we would be together again,” he whispered, letting his eyes close.

“We’re going to get you help Grantaire, and I won’t break my promise.”

Combeferre hears a melodic tone on the wind and looks up at the ledge several feet above him. He squints, unable to see anything without his glasses, and shakes his head. _Probably something from the bar._

“It’s gonna be good again, I promise,” Ferre said to R’s sleeping form. Who Combeferre was reassuring, he didn’t know for sure this time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have ideas of where to go next, but I haven't written anything yet. If you want more let me know! Also sorry for all the italics. I really like Italics. <3


	4. I Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre visits R's apartment, and treatment options are discussed for Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY it took me this long to update, but srsly I couldn't figure out where I wanted to go. Thanks for sticking it through if you've waited this long.

“Joly said he’s sleeping and that Grantaire’s going to be okay, but Ferre are you okay?” asked Courfeyrac worried.

“I’m fine, just a little cold. Joly said I should clean up his apartment for him for when he can come home, I’m walking up the stairs now,” said Combeferre shivering as he spoke to his partner. He walked up to the door and looked for the spare key he knew he had under their _Vive le France_ welcome mat. _He kept the goddamn welcome mat._ Combeferre hadn’t been to this place in a very long time, since before two people lived in this apartment instead of just one.

“Combeferre you jumped into the Seine at night, in the almost winter. Come home to me, we can go to their apartment tomorrow. Together.”

“It’s too late I’m already at the door, I’ll be home soon, I promise. Keep me posted on his condition okay?” He said jiggling the key into the lock.

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you too, see you soon,” Ferre hung up his phone and turned the knob, letting himself into his best friend’s apartment. He flipped on the light.

It was like walking into the past. Nothing had changed, yet everything was different. The apartment looked like it had been lived in, but there was no life left in it. Combeferre saw that there was no mess to clean up in the living room and kitchen, shocking considering Grantaire was one of the messiest people he knew, but that was before he saw the studio and the bedroom. Ferre looked at each photograph on the walls and tables and he passed by them.

Grantaire’s birthday party.

A rally that actually helped get a law passed.

The group at one of Jehan’s poetry readings.

Everyone at Cosette and Marius’s wedding.

Enjolras and Grantaire smiling at each other while they danced, looking at each other like they could care less if the world burned down around them, as long as they were with each other.

One by one, Combeferre took each of the photographs off the walls and put them on a table to put in a box later. _Ferre what’re you doing it’s not like Grantaire died too._ He heard a soft thud on the ground after he put the last frame down. Combeferre turned to see a soaked red scarf laying on the carpet. He had put it in his pocket when the ambulance took Grantaire away from the Seine, R had had it in a death grip and he knew he’d hate himself forever if he lost it. Ferre put it on the table with the rest of the photographs, _with the rest of the memories of our fearless leader_.

Next, he went into R’s art studio, and he was not prepared for what he saw. Grantaire was an excellent portrait artist and Combeferre walked in on hundreds of drawings and paintings of his best, and oldest friend. Wherever Ferre looked was golden hair, blue eyes, and red. A red scarf, a red shirt, red jeans, red jacket, red _blood_.

_Grantaire oh my god, what have you done to yourself._ Combeferre couldn’t be in the room any longer the memories coming to the surface of the night everything changed for the Les Amis d’le ABC. He quickly left the room and shut the door. He’d need Courfeyrac’s help to clean that room out.

One room left: their bedroom. It was not nearly as bad as the studio. Simple, a little messy, the bed unkempt and clothes laying around on the floor, _that’s the R I know_ , and an empty shoebox with it’s lid left next to it. He knelt down next to it and flipped it over to read in R’s choppy script, “Apollo.”

“Oh R,” Ferre whispered to himself as he traced the letters with his fingers. He picked the box up and returned to the main room to put it with everything else. He hesitated before putting the lid back on, and put the crimson scarf back in its rightful place. Instead of leaving it with the photos to box up another day Combeferre decided to take the scarf home with him.

*buzz buzz*

_Come home. Or I’ll kick your ass._

Combeferre smiled remembering just how much he loved his partner. He shut off the light, locked the door behind him, and went home to sleep in his warm bed with his very much alive boyfriend.

***

“Ferre he has no next of kin, and he needs help. I need you to convince him to let me help him,” Joly said pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, “You’ve gotten to know him better over the past few years because of…” Joly let the sentence die and fidgeted in his scrubs.

“Because of _his_ death,” Combeferre finished.

“Yes, because of that. I need you to get him to sign this form to allow us to admit him to the psych ward in the hospital. There’s treatment that can help with his depression, I’d be his physician,” Joly thrust a clipboard and pen in his friend’s direction for him to take.

“What kind of treatment Joly?”

“ECT.”

“No, Joly I know about Electroshock Therapy, there’s serious side effects. One of which being memory loss.”

“It’s not like it was before, the shock is barely enough to light a ten-watt light bulb. And yes there’s side effects but memory loss happens in a very small minority of patients. If it’s going to help him, don’t we want to try something?” Joly pleaded.

“The hallucinations will stop?”

“Most likely yes.”

“Okay, I’m trusting you Joly. I’ll talk to him.”

“He’s sleeping right now, I can call you when he’s awake,” Joly said.

“No, I’ll just go get some coffee and wait in his room.”

“You’re so good to him Ferre, the rest of us can’t even begin to understand the kind of pain he’s going through. They were so happy together. I can’t imagine Chetta or Bossuet being ripped from me so cruelly,” Joly muttered shuddering.

“Nor I with Courf, but _he_ would’ve wanted me to do something to help our beloved cynic,” said Ferre with a small laugh. He shook Joly’s hand and went to go get a strong cup of coffee.

***

_Blonde hair._

_Blood._

_Screaming._

_Crying._

_Vacant blue eyes._

_Screaming._

_Blood._

_APOLLO!_

R’s eyes snapped open and his breath quickened which caused Combeferre to rush to his side. He took his friends hand and started rubbing his thumb in hopes of calming him down.

Grantaire coughed to clear his throat and croaked, “Where am I?”

“You’re at the hospital.”

R’s brow furrows and his confusion is plain on his face. “What happened?”

Combeferre adjusted his glasses and sighed, “You tried to kill yourself by jumping into the Seine last night.”

The previous night came flooding back to the artist’s mind. A wave of panic came over his body.

“He said-”

“He said he’d catch you, I know. But Grantaire I can’t go through this with you again. I can’t relive this trauma, I just-I can’t let you bring him back. I can’t keep reminding you that he’s dead. He’s gone. Whatever you think you saw, he’s not here.”  
“I kissed him last night. I felt his warmth, I felt his breath, I _felt_ him Ferre. He just feels real to me. I tried to ignore him, but I can’t.”

“I know the pain you’re-”

Grantaire snatched his hand from Combeferre’s grip and sat up. He looked gravely at his friend and spoke fiercely, “You _DON’T_ know what I’m going through Combeferre. Yes you were his best friend, but I was his lover. I was his partner. I knew him, his body, his soul and he knew me. Letting go of him would be like letting go of myself. Letting go of him would be like losing a part of myself, and I just can’t do that.”

Tears came to Grantaire’s eyes as he spoke and when he finished he let them fall down his face, not even bothering to wipe them away. Timidly, Ferre reached for Grantaire’s hand and his friend allowed him to hold it.

“Okay. I don’t know what you’re going through. But you have to know that I want to help you,” Grantaire nodded unable to speak, “Do you want to get rid of the pain?”

“More than anything,” Grantaire sobbed.

“Then sign this form and Joly can take it away,” Combeferre slid the pen and clipboard towards Grantaire. He looked between the form and his friend.

“Do you trust me Taire? I only want to help you, I promise.”

_I’ll catch you, I promise._

Grantaire saw a flash of red pass by his door. He gripped the pen and signed the form with a flourish.

“So, what did I just admit myself to?”

“ECT”

“L-M-N-O-P, I’m not a doctor Combeferre speak English.”

“Electroshock therapy.”

Grantaire paled and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Combeferre repeated the words Joly told him just a few hours ago.

“The shock is barely enough to light a ten-watt light bulb.”

“Oh that’s reassuring,” Grantaire scoffed, then said somberly, “Any side effects?”

Combeferre looked at his friend, “Memory loss.”

“Oh.”

“It happens only in a small minority of patients, you’ll be fine. I’ll help you every step of the way,” said Ferre squeezing R’s hand.

“You promise?”

_I’ll catch you, I promise._

“I promise, Grantaire.”

 

 


End file.
